


a fate that befell me

by bethycupcake



Series: the fire it ignites [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Enemies to Friends, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Mutual Pining, Overprotective Steve, Pining, awkward shower situation, bedrest, dont question it just go with it, like a little bit, reader apparently know flower symbolism, reader has minor ptsd, reconcilliation, rest of the team is mentioned, steve is less of an ass in this, talk of gunshots, talk of injuries
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-03-01 05:01:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23019712
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bethycupcake/pseuds/bethycupcake
Summary: You made the ultimate sacrifice, and now you and Steve must face the consequences, and try to reconcile your past misgivings.
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Original Female Character(s), Steve Rogers/Reader
Series: the fire it ignites [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1612768
Comments: 6
Kudos: 54





	a fate that befell me

**Author's Note:**

> Whew, I did not expect for this to take so long, but there were certain things I wanted to include, and bridging the gaps between them was where I struggled. But! Here we are! And I want to thank you all for being so patient with me while I got this out, it's definitely been a labour of love.  
> Less action than part 1, but it should answer some questions and perhaps raise some more? ;)  
> P.S. I'm sorry about the last cliffhanger. I know that was mean ;)

Your body collided with his, making him stumble just a little, his name a harsh shout from your lips. He was about to turn to you, demand what the hell you were doing, when the gunshot rang through the air, sharp and piercing. The sound of it made his body tense as he felt yours stiffen then collapse against him.

Time seemed to slow, the moment dragging endlessly while his mind fazed in and out of focus and realised what had happened. You crumple to the floor, deep red already blooming around your hand, pressed against your side.

The team around him sprang into action, bodies moving frantically, orders being shouted, your name called. 

Steve, for what must have been the first time in years - maybe his life - found himself frozen, despite the unbridled, unmistakable panic swelling in his chest. The voices of his teammates, his friends - your friends - fade to nothing more than distant noise. Steve was unable to do anything but drop to his knees beside your head, moving his face to be directly above yours.

Your vision seemed to lose focus, but soon your eyes locked with his, and they filled with an oddly calm look, tinged with confusion. It was such a soft look that you gave him, brimming with affection that Steve didn’t deserve from you. He watched your face contort in pain as someone - he doesn’t know who, he couldn’t possibly look away from you now - replaces your hand with theirs, pressing firmly against your wound. His hand rested on your head, fingers threading into your hair, stroking, willing the action to bring you some semblance of comfort. Your lips curled upwards, just slightly, at the corners, your expression unnaturally peaceful for the circumstances. 

He wished he could take the pain away, bear it on his shoulders. _It should have been me._

Your eyes began to droop, losing focus, and your apology was a breathless, heart-wrenching whisper. Steve wanted to shout, to tell you that you’re going to be okay, that it will all be okay, that he’s sorry too, but a firm hand on his shoulder drew his attention away from you.

Natasha stood beside him, eyes frantic but voice calm, measured. Steve knew her well enough to know that she was close to breaking, but managed to keep up her steely exterior. “We need to get her onto the jet.” It’s then that he noticed that the others were gone, already on the quinjet and getting ready to make their getaway.

Steve moved as if in a trance, slipping his arms underneath your shoulders and knees, lifting with ease. He held you close to his body, moving quickly from the building, and rested his face against the side of your head. He kept talking to you, reassuring, though not entirely sure if you could hear him or not. He pressed a kiss to your temple, willing you to be okay, then felt your body go limp against him, while the guilt settled thick and heavy in his heart. 

\---

The hours that you were in surgery were some of the longest, and most stressful of Steve’s life. Second only to the hours when he didn’t know if Bucky was alive back during the war. But even then, he didn’t feel the same weight on his shoulders, in his heart. This was a different feeling, the guilt deeper, more consuming than he could remember having ever felt before.

He was sure his pacing would wear a hole in the linoleum floor of the hospital wing corridor. His hands were still stained with your blood, his grubby uniform undone but still clinging to his restless body. He refused to leave even long enough to wash or change. 

His hands balled into fists as the sounds of the gunshot and your pleading whisper flash through his mind, remorse never waning, settling like a rock in his chest. 

While Steve was pacing, the rest of the team arrived sporadically, having gone back to their rooms to change and shower, safe in the knowledge that he would alert them of any news in the meantime. 

Natasha was the first to arrive, along with Wanda, hair damp and wearing sweats and t-shirts, sullen looks on their faces. Sam and the others soon joined them, some pacing like Steve, some leaning against the wall, some folded in on themselves in the uncomfortable plastic chairs that lined the corridor. Even Tony had shown up, presumably at the insistence of Nat or Pepper. He was sat in the corner and busy tapping away at his StarkPad. Steve couldn’t even be mad at the tapping sound that interrupted the near-silence. He was just glad he had turned up.

Steve’s guilt grew exponentially as he realised that he’d been too caught up in his own thoughts and feelings to notice the hit the rest of the team had taken with your injury. For months, he’d been preoccupied with his dislike for you that he hadn’t even realised how much of a place you had found within the team. Looking around, he didn’t see a group of superheroes waiting for their colleague; he saw a team worried for their friend. Worried for you. You, who might not even be in this position if he hadn’t been so cold to you, if he hadn’t said those awful things, things that weren’t even close to being true. He realised that, now. 

A selfish person would never jump in front of a bullet for someone, especially someone who had been so awful to them. To you. And, looking around at your teammates, your friends, he realised that you did deserve to be on the team, perhaps more than anyone. More than him, that was for sure. The rational part of his brain tried to tell him otherwise, but he wouldn’t listen. After what he said, and what you did, he wasn’t sure he was worthy of his title. 

The pure relief that spread through the room when the doctor told them that the surgery was successful was almost palpable. He heard the doctor say something about blood transfusion and internal bleeding and broken ribs, but all Steve could think about was the fact that you were alive. You would be okay.

That was enough.

\---

Once the team had had some time to feel the relief that their friend was alive, the doctor came back and explained that your recovery was going to take time. Although the wound itself had been patched up using Dr Cho’s new cradle, it would still take time for your ribs to mend, and even then it would be painful to make certain movements. Once you were all healed up, you would need to regain your strength and flexibility, which could take weeks. 

All things considered, nobody could complain about this outcome. Everyone knew it would be tough, but you would do it. If anyone could come back from this, it was you.

Now that he wasn’t stressed out of his mind, Steve’s mental and physical exhaustion finally caught up with him, and he slumped in a chair with a heavy breath. Although a weight had been lifted from his shoulders, there was still the undeniable guilt that he knew wouldn’t go away any time soon, if ever. 

After some persuasion from Nat, Steve made his way sullenly back to his room, where he swiftly stripped and showered, before collapsing into bed, falling quickly into a restless sleep. 

\---

Everything was dark. And silent. It was unsettling, made you nervous. Why was it so dark? Where was all the noise? You couldn’t even hear your own breathing, and panic welled inside of you. _Don’t let me be dead._

You tried to open your eyes, move your head to look around, but found yourself unable to move. The fear grew stronger, the complete absence of… everything too overwhelming, too confusing. Your ears strained to pick up on a sound, any sound, just to prove to yourself that you weren’t dead. _Dear God, please don’t let me be dead._

There was a sound. Voices, you thought, distant, muffled, like you were deep underwater, unknown depths threatening to swallow you whole. The voices grew louder, just a little, enough to make it feel like coming up for air, until something pulled you back under and it went silent again. 

Somehow, this time, it was comforting. Being surrounded by endless nothingness was oddly calming. The feeling of no obligations, no time restraints. It was leisurely, and you almost wished it would never end. 

A strange orange glow seeped through your eyelids, and you basked in it as if it were the sun on a warm June afternoon. You could almost feel yourself smiling, feel the light breeze on your cheeks and the happiness in your heart. 

The image was ripped away, however, when you felt a searing pain in your side. You choked on a gasp, before once again succumbing to the darkness around you. 

\---

The hospital wing was quiet when Steve returned, too early in the morning for the regular bustling noise of pages turning and people chattering. It felt strange, being here at this time. Being the visitor, rather than the patient. It was eerie and reminded him too much of the night he lost his mother for him to make it a regular occurrence. Hell, if he hadn’t been called for a mission, he wouldn’t even be here. But he had to see you before he left. He had to make sure you were okay. 

Steve nodded and smiled softly at the nurse on duty at the front desk, tired eyes illuminated by the soft glow of a lamp where she worked on some files. He had become a regular enough admission to the wing to not need to have his ID checked, though he doubted he would need it anyway. 

As he rounded the corner and approached your room, he couldn’t fight the anxious knot in his stomach. He wondered what state you would be in if you would be awake or asleep. He wasn’t sure which would be worse. 

His racing mind couldn’t prepare him for the reality, though. 

The room was small, just big enough that there was room to move around unencumbered, lit dimly by an off-white light in the far corner. And, in the centre of the room, laying almost statue-still, was you, covered from the waist down by pristine baby blue sheets. The image of you, surrounded by wires and machines that he couldn’t name even if he tried, was jarring. You looked so small in the bed, so vulnerable, and Steve found himself missing your feisty spirit and your recklessness, even the way you always spoke back to him. He’d take any of it, all of it, over this. 

Before he could think twice, Steve found himself at the side of your bed, looking down at your sallow face, hair falling limp against the pillow. His eyes trailed down your torso, the edge of a bruise peeking out of the top of your hospital gown, and lingered on the spot he knew bore your healing wound. There were bruises across your knuckles, but that wasn’t unusual after a mission. He reached out instinctively and took your hand in his, the pad of his thumb brushing delicately over the purplish flesh. 

He was startled from his thoughts by the vibration of his phone in his pocket, and he quickly but gently rested your hand back at your side. Secretly thankful that there was no one around to see the blush creeping up his neck. Stepping just outside the doorway, he fished out his phone and answered the call with a stiff but hushed “Rogers.” He only half-listened to Maria Hill inform him of some new information regarding the mission before thanking her and ending the call. Heaving a sigh, he turned and looked through the doorway at you for a long moment, before tearing himself away to get ready to leave. The urge to turn around and go back to you only strengthened with every step he took.

—-

The first thing you noticed when you woke up was how heavy your body felt, like it had been dipped in concrete. It was unnerving, but you didn’t allow yourself to panic, not yet. Not until you had figured out exactly what was going on.

Taking a chance, you made an attempt at opening your eyes - though the apparent weight of your eyelids meant that it took a great deal of concentration to do so - and immediately regretted it. The harsh white light surrounding you sent jolts of pain through your eyes, like needles piercing the flesh behind them. You tried again, this time with more caution, opening them only a fraction, just enough to take in your surroundings. 

From what you could tell, you were in a hospital room, if the crisp sheets and rhythmic beeping beside you were anything to go by. As your eyes adjusted to the light, you were able to scope out a little more of the room. You could see the door, across to your right, as well as a set of drawers against the wall to your left. It was adorned with various vases of flowers and what looked to be Get Well Soon cards, along with a borderline-tacky foil helium balloon. As far as you could tell, it read something like ‘Sorry you feel like s**t!’. You were reasonably confident that that was thanks to Tony. 

The display of well-wishes confused you, though. Usually, the stints that any of the Avengers took in the hospital wing were short-term, so didn’t warrant gifts, which begged the question; how long have I been here? And its prequel, what the hell happened?

You scoured your recent memory, searching for anything that would tell you why you were in here, but all you got were fragments of sight and sound. A man pointing a gun. Your voice, shouting Steve’s name. A gunshot, loud and clear and unmistakable. A solid mass, engulfing you, protecting you.

Oh god.

Almost frantically, you pushed down the sheets that lay across your torso and lifted the hospital gown where the ache that you were suddenly aware of told you the wound would be. Your whole abdomen was wrapped in a white bandage, and you lifted one side of it to see the distinct scarring of what you knew to be a bullet wound. 

The fragments of your memory began to come together, forming one coherent mass, and the realisation of what you had done hit you like a freight train. You had taken a bullet for him, for the man you claimed to hate, the man who claimed to hate you. How had you been so stupid, so reckless? You were sure that if you were to look up the word ‘idiot’ in a dictionary, there’d be a picture of you, in this exact situation. 

What the hell were you thinking? And, more importantly at this moment, what the hell must Steve think? You’d virtually proven his point about being reckless. This was it, you were sure of it, this would be the last straw, and you’d be off the team. You resigned yourself to your fate, settling back into the pillows only semi-comfortably, and began planning your next moves. There was no way he’d allow you to stay here, after the stunt you pulled, so you’d have to find a place to go. You wondered what happened to your old apartment, the one you lived in before you were recruited by Fury, whether it had been sold, whether you could just go back there. Judging by the healed-over skin and the pain in your side that you knew to be broken ribs, you’d probably only need to be here for a few more days. After that, you’d get by. It would be tough, on your own, but you’d come back from worse, and without the support of an entire team behind you.

That was a lie, and you knew it, but this was no time for actual logical thinking.

Just as you were making a mental checklist of what you would need to do before you left, your thoughts were interrupted by Nat, wearing her trademark smirk. She was followed closely by a svelte woman in a doctor’s coat. “Well, look who decided to return to the land of the living.”

Your own lips quirked up into a matching smirk, though when you spoke, your throat was dry and hoarse. “Oh come on, Romanoff, surely we’ve known each other long enough that you can just tell me you missed me.” Natasha’s smirk morphed into a genuine smile, and she took a seat in the chair that had been angled towards the bed.

“It’s good to have you back, Y/N,” the other woman spoke, her voice light and melodic. Not at all what you would expect from a doctor who had to fix secret agents and super soldiers daily. She approached the bed and lifted the clipboard hanging from the end of it, flipping through with a natural smile on her face. “My name is Dr Helen Cho, I’m in charge of your recovery here.”

Your mind whirled, trying to work out where you’d heard the name before. Sensing your struggle, Nat elaborated, “Dr Cho is head of the U-GIN Genetics company in South Korea. She used her technology to design a machine that can create synthetic tissue and bond it to human cells. It’s pretty incredible.”

Dr Cho becomes almost bashful at the praise. “Well, it’s not perfect, there will always be ways to improve it, but it does the job we need it to. And I must say, it has worked wonders on your injury.”

You nodded absently, the final pieces coming together in your mind; perhaps you weren’t out for as long as you had thought, if that machine of hers was what healed your wound so quickly.

“How long have I been here?”

“Just a few days. You were in surgery for a couple hours while we figured out the extent of your injury and removed any shrapnel that might have gotten lodged in the wound. After that, we just let the Cradle do its work. And you’ve been in here, sleeping since then. We decided it was best to let your body take all the rest it needed, rather than forcing it to be either asleep or awake. The body is surprisingly good at healing itself, and sometimes the best course of action is to just allow it the time to do its thing.”

You listened intently as Dr Cho described the nature of your injuries, and the procedures they went through to repair them, before detailing what your next steps to recovery would be. She explained that you would need several days more bed rest here in the medical wing, followed by several more in your own suite. After that, you would be able to move around, provided you didn’t over-exert yourself until your ribs were healed. Then, you would need to train regularly in order to regain muscle mass and be able to move with the ease and fluidity as you did before. Dr Cho insisted that it would be a long process, but it was necessary if you were to make a full recovery. 

It wasn’t exactly the prognosis you were hoping for, but if it meant you could go back to normal? You’d do all you could.

\----

Within a day of you waking up, you were able to sit up in bed a little more and actually feel like a human being again. You had your first actual food in days, and a slightly plasticky prepackaged sandwich had never tasted so good. Your skin had begun to return to its natural colour, your hair returning to its normal fullness. 

Since you’d ‘returned to the land of the living,’ as Nat had put it, most of the team had been by to say hello. Some only dropped by fleetingly, on their way to or from one thing or another, but some stayed longer, keeping you company. Nat and Wanda were with you most of the day, glad to have their friend back and eager to catch you up on everything that had happened while you were out. They brought you a couple of books and magazines to keep you occupied since they had meetings to attend and paperwork to complete. They even brought you food from your favourite takeout place.

The only ones who didn’t visit you that first day were Tony - who cited his known dislike for hospitals in his ‘glad you’re okay’ message - and Sam and Steve, who were away on a mission and weren’t expected back for a few days.

So, you were beyond surprised when, in the late evening the day after you came to, your attention was pulled from your book by Steve tapping his knuckles against the doorframe. He was dressed casually in jeans and a t-shirt, hair damp from the shower, and held a vase of flowers in front of him.

Dread immediately settled in your chest, forming a lump in your throat, his name a surprised murmur from your lips, earning an equally quiet “hey” from Steve.

You’d never seen him so apprehensive. The tenseness he carried in his whole body made you think that, if they weren’t otherwise occupied, his hands would be in knots in front of him.

“Do you wanna come in?” He nodded stiffly, and moved towards you, placing the vase on the table to your side. You motioned to the empty chair, and he sat, looking uncomfortable and tight, and he looked everywhere but you and oh god, this is the end.

There were several minutes of somewhat tense small talk. He asked how you are, you asked how the mission went, though neither of your hearts are in it, and you wished he’d just get to the point already. After a stretch of silence, you both went to speak at once.

“Are you kicking me off the team?”

“I want to apologise for what I- you think I’m kicking you off the team?”

You sigh, almost exasperated. “Well, of course. You didn’t want me on the team in the first place, and now I’ve just given you more proof that I don’t belong here. The team would be a whole lot better if I wasn’t on it.”

Steve began to shake his head almost immediately after you started your little tirade. He sat forward in his chair so he could catch your gaze, which had dropped to your lap where you had begun picking at a loose thread in the blanket. When you met his eyes, they were sincere and full of regret, brows knitted together in a frown. 

“No, Y/N, listen… I am so sorry for what I said to you that day, and for the way I’ve been treating you since you got here.”

You nodded slowly, blinking back the tears that had begun to form in your eyes. “What you said really hurt me, Steve.”

Steve’s chest tightened almost painfully at the vulnerability in your voice, knowing that he was the reason that you looked so broken. He sighed, swallowing down his own emotion and sitting forward in his chair a little more. “I know. I know I hurt you and I can’t sit here and give you some lame excuse for my actions, especially now that I see just how wrong I was. All I can do is say that I am really, truly sorry, and hope that one day you can forgive me.”

You saw the sincerity and regret in his eyes and offered him a small nod and a watery smile. “For what it’s worth… I’m sorry too. I know I shouldn’t have disobeyed you that time in Minsk, I just… I wanted to prove myself to you, to the others. Prove I could be useful, that I deserved a place on the team.” You lifted one shoulder in a lopsided shrug. “I guess that plan backfired.” 

“No, you were right to investigate. Admittedly, I do wish it hadn’t been against my orders, but there could have been something useful in that room. I know that several others on the team would have done the same thing.”

After softly agreeing with him, you both settled into several seconds of somewhat tense, but comfortable silence, until you spoke up in a quiet voice, “so… what now? Am I still on the team?”

Steve’s answer was immediate. “Yes. Yes, of course, you are, there’s no doubt in my mind that you belong here. You’ll always have a place here, with us, as long as you want it.” You breathed a relieved sigh, chuckling lightly. “But for now, how about a do-over? At your confused expression, he stood and held his hand out, clearing his throat a little. “Hi, it’s nice to meet you, I’m Steve Rogers.” You searched his face for any sign that he was making a joke, but his vaguely amused expression was sincere. You shook his hand and returned his sentiment, giving him your name, your voice light with humour.

The two of you chatted for a little while after that, finally allowing yourselves the chance to get to know each other, until Steve caught you trying to stifle a yawn. He graciously helped lower you into a comfortable sleeping position and turned the lights to a dimmer setting. He paused in the doorway, looking back at you with a smile, which you returned, before turning and making his way back down the hallway.

Smile still on your face, your eyes wandered around the room, settling on the flowers Steve left on the side for you. You admired the simple, yet beautiful arrangement, wondering if the symbolism of the flowers was intentional, eventually deciding that it was too on the nose to have been coincidental. 

Purple hyacinths. Daffodils.

Forgiveness, remorse. New beginnings.

\---

To your surprise, you started seeing a lot more of Steve after that. 

The next morning, he turned up - way too bright and early for your liking - bearing heavenly gifts of decent, non-watery coffee and fresh pastries from someplace he passed on his morning run. He was oddly bashful about it, too, as if worried that you would blow up at him for bringing you breakfast. You accepted them gratefully, the smell alone enough to make your stomach rumble, acting as a reminder of the less-than-ideal food that you had been subjected to since you had woken up. Seriously, Tony could afford to replace entire jets every week, but couldn’t stretch to food that was actually edible?

You had just finished the last dregs of your coffee and were halfway through your third danish when Dr Cho appeared in your doorway, cutting off your - only slightly - stiff small talk with Steve. She offered the both of you a bright smile before letting you know that you would be moved back to your own room with strict instructions for rest for several more days, and no strenuous activities for at least a week. 

When Dr Cho asked if there was someone who would be available to help you if you needed it, Steve quickly offered his assistance and, after several minutes of arguing back and forth, you relented. He had pleaded with you for god's sake, who were you to say no?

Not two hours later, you found yourself in a wheelchair, Steve manoeuvring you through the corridors of the compound towards the living quarters. You had changed into fresh sweats and a T-shirt that Steve had Nat fetch from your room just before she and the others left for one mission or another, leaving you and Steve pretty much alone in the compound. 

You managed to get yourself settled into a corner of the couch in your room without too much fuss, your ribs only aching a little, while Steve went to return the wheelchair. When he came back, he swung by the kitchenette in your room, soon returning with two plates of sandwiches which he placed on the coffee table in front of you. You thanked him quietly and went back to flicking through Netflix for something for the two of you to watch. 

After several moments, you broke the silence. “So, cap, what’s your pop culture like? Have you managed to acquaint yourself with twenty-first-century television?” 

Steve chuckled softly, gently shaking his head. “Not really. Movies, sort of yes, but TV shows are always such a big commitment, and it’s hard to see the point in starting something when you could be called away for weeks at a time. Then by that point, you’ve missed a bunch and have to play catch up, only to be called away again. It’s an endless cycle.”

“You see, that’s the joy of Netflix.” You gestured towards the TV screen with the remote. “A lot of the shows on there are completed, and they’re there all the time, so you don’t have to worry about schedules or not being able to watch for a while. You can just jump right back in whenever you want.”

Steve seemed to contemplate that. “Huh. I guess I hadn’t really thought about it like that.” He was silent for a few seconds before he asked, “so, what would you recommend I watch?” 

“Well, it kind of depends on what you like, there’s such a variety. But… I personally would recommend the show, Sherlock. I feel like it covers a variety of bases, crime, drama, comedy…”

“Sherlock as in… Sherlock Holmes? Like in the Conan Doyle novels? I used to love reading those in the 40s.”

“Yeah, the show is basically a modernisation of those characters and stories, set in modern-day London. Plus, each episode is basically its own mini-movie, and there isn’t a whole lot of spread-out storylines, so you don’t have to worry about being away for long periods.”

Steve put his hands up in surrender, laugh bubbling from his chest. “Okay, okay, you’ve convinced me, I’ll try it.” 

You didn’t even try to hide your excitement and quickly found the first episode, both of you settling back with your sandwiches as you pressed play. 

—

The third episode was just drawing to a close when your stomach rumbled, drawing an amused chuckle from Steve, who offered to make dinner while you showered. Not, however, before spending several minutes fussing over you and making sure you were able to move around as much as you needed to. You were nearly forced to resort to violence, had he not finally relented when he realised that you had made it to the bathroom without assistance. He did make you promise to call if you needed help, though. 

It started out okay. You had managed, very carefully, to undress, and stand under the stream of hot water, the warmth and pressure relaxing your muscles and washing away the grime of being stuck in a bed for days on end. But then you made the mistake of trying to apply shampoo to your hair. You momentarily forgot about your ribs and raised your arms too quickly, sending a shock of pain through your side that had you almost doubling over, pained shout tearing from your throat. 

It took all of three seconds for the hurried knocking on the door to start, Steve calling your name sharply, voice laced with worry. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” you gasped, trying to swallow the whimpers of pain. 

“No, you’re not.” Apparently, you didn’t try hard enough. Damn him and his super-soldier hearing. “I’m coming in.” You listened to the door opening, then closing, and when Steve spoke next, he was less than a metre away, voice softer but no less concerned. “What happened?”

You sighed, the pain in your side shifting to more of an ache than the sharp agony it had been. Your voice was quiet as you explained, “I went to wash my hair but moved too quick and aggravated my ribs, is all. I’m okay now.” You had hoped that that would be enough to placate him, but really you should have known that it wouldn’t. 

“Are you sure? Do you want my help?” He sounded genuinely concerned, clearly unfazed by the ridiculousness of the situation. 

You shook your head, even though he probably couldn't see you. “No, it’s okay, I…” You paused, and shifted a little on your feet, the movement sending another shooting pain through you, and you barely stifled the groan that it caused. You sighed again, relenting, and whispered a resigned “yes, please.” 

Steve could feel the heat of his cheeks as he stepped in behind you, having stripped down to his underwear, focusing his eyes on the tiles above your head, the knobs of the shower, anywhere but the drop of water making a meandering path down the curve of your back. 

You both settled into a tense silence, the quiet only disturbed by the steady stream of the shower, and the soft _is this okay?_ s and whispered replies. 

His touch on your scalp was firm but gentle, and you wondered distantly what it would be like to have those hands on other parts of your body - pressing into your hips or skimming down your sides or pawing at your-

Steve’s voice pulled you from your thoughts, and you quickly snapped out of it, allowing him to gently move your body so that your head was under the stream of water. You hoped the flush you felt in your cheeks wasn’t noticeable. 

It was almost overwhelming, the intimacy of it all. You wondered how on earth you would be able to go back to treating each other as mere colleagues after… this. How would you be able to look him in the eye after having felt the heat of his body so close to yours? Felt the dexterity of his fingers running through your hair, felt the new and encompassing desire you had for him at that moment? You wondered if he felt it too, this strange charge of energy between you, hanging in the empty space between the cold tile walls of the shower. If he, too, felt something new and unexpected for you, born of forced intimacy and affection. 

It was nice to dream.

Once your hair was washed, Steve made sure you were okay to finish up before he stepped away, shoulders tense. He grabbed a towel and dried his body as best as he could, before slipping back into his clothes, muttering something about going to change. His voice was taut and barely audible over the sound of the water surrounding you.

By the time he returned, you had managed to finish your shower and change into comfortable, clean clothes without too much difficulty. You were settled back onto the couch with your phone, when a quick knock at the door alerted you to his presence before he came in, muttering an almost sheepish “hi.”

The air was thick with tension as Steve went straight back to preparing dinner. He barely glanced your way until you stood, a soft groan slipping past your lips at the physical exertion and the movement that jostled your ribs slightly. His head whipped around, and he started to approach you, telling you to stop and wait for him to help you, which you waved off with a flick of your hand. “I’m fine, really, Steve, I’m perfectly capable of standing on my own.” You took careful steps over to the kitchenette, standing on the opposite side of the breakfast bar counter to Steve, who had his eye trained on you the whole time. You pushed yourself onto one of the barstools next to you, sighing when you were finally situated. You did not enjoy how much simple tasks took out of you. You couldn’t wait to be better. 

Once sat, you lifted your gaze to meet Steve’s eyes, which were filled with concern, his eyebrows drawn together to form what the others had called the Eyebrows of Disappointment. You took a breath and tried to tamp down the rising urge to just hightail it out of there, realising that you wouldn’t get very far on your own and Steve would be able to catch you. Very easily. 

Taking a deep breath, you tried to figure out what to say. What could you say? As far as you were aware, there was no standard protocol for talking to 100-year-old super-soldiers who, not thirty minutes ago, had been in your shower. With you. While you were naked. 

“I… thank you. For your help earlier. I really appreciate it.” His features softened upon your words and your grateful tone, eyebrows relaxing slightly into an expression that held an unexpected tenderness that made your heart clench. It was clear he was trying to swallow his embarrassment, but there was no mistaking the pink tinge to his cheeks and the tips of his ears. You bit your lip and dropped your gaze to the counter in front of you. Steve waited patiently for you to continue. “I don't… I don’t want there to be any awkwardness between us, especially since we only just got on good terms, so… I think it would be best if we just… forget it ever happened?” Your voice was hopeful towards the end, raising your eyes back to his just in time to see a flash of… disappointment? - no, not possible - before he offered you one of his lopsided grins that, coupled with the softness in his gaze, had your stomach doing somersaults. 

“Sure, Y/N.”

You responded with your own grin, before adding, “oh, and maybe don’t tell the others? I feel like Nat would have a field day if she ever found out about this.” That earned you a full laugh from Steve, your own chuckle bright and cheerful, with a lightness that you hadn’t felt in a while. 

After a brief moment where you were both unable to break the soft eye contact, you settled back into light chatter, the shower incident a distant memory, just as you had asked. 

So why did you feel that unmistakable lump of regret in your stomach?

**Author's Note:**

> I KNOW another cliffhanger and I'm SORRY, but I have part 3 already in the works and I've been really inspired with it lately and I know exactly where I want to go with it to finish off this story, so hopefully it won't be as long a wait!  
> Thank you SO much for reading, as always you can find me on tumblr, either @/bethycupcake or @/kind-sober-fullydressed - feel free to come say hi!


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